


Pillow Talk

by Good_Grief



Series: The Chatterbox [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: (Hashirama/Mito mentioned), (Izuna/Touka mentioned), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Legally Blind Senju Tobirama, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27226378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good_Grief/pseuds/Good_Grief
Summary: “I’ve been informed that it’s not very comfortable or hospitable to invite people over to my single chair abode.”“Well it’s not,” Touka says, and Tobirama doesn’t need to be in the same room to imagine her pinched expression, “but I’ve always assumed that was absolutely the point of it.”“Of course, it's hard to overstay your welcome that way,” Tobirama replies in an equally dry tone.Tobirama is very content with his single chair and his keurig machine, or he was, before he was reintroduced to Uchiha Madara.
Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara
Series: The Chatterbox [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989172
Comments: 22
Kudos: 229





	Pillow Talk

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, lazily edited, and self indulgent. This was a drabble that somehow turned into 33 pages by accident. Some sexual content- read the tags.

**Pillow Talk**

  
  


The coffee shop at the end of the street is somewhere that Tobirama has purposefully avoided. It’s too far from his small studio apartment to be truly convenient, for starters, but he could certainly go on about the rickety exterior and his ownership of a keurig nullifying the need to _go outside_ to get coffee. The only reason he even finds himself here is because Hashirama insisted. He insisted his brother’s apartment with it’s small table and single chair were too small for a guest. The lack of a second chair was a convenient excuse to never have any guests, so he caved to the whining and followed Hashirama four whole blocks away to the coffee shop of his choice. 

It might have been an old barber shop, if the exterior was any guess, red and white paint faded but not peeling. The window has a display of dried red and white roses that Tobirama can almost make out if he leans in so close the window fogs up with his breath. Presumably, only the café sign gives it away that it isn’t in fact a curio shop. 

The door chimes as Hashirama strides through it, leaving Tobirama to catch it on the backslide. “Madara!” his voice booms and Tobirama, who has always been quick on the uptake, realizes that Hashirama may not have necessarily wanted to go for coffee but instead had tracked down an old friend and had invited Tobirama along for… moral support?

“Why are you so tall?” Madara leans over the counter to eye up the newcomers. Tobirama takes a moment to glance around as Hashirama enthusiastically points out that his brother lives near here, and something about running into him again, and _what a happy coincidence._

“Coincidence,” Madara repeats dryly, “My brother told you where I work when you ran into him, and now you are here, with your brother, who happens to live nearby no less…” 

“Coincidence,” Hashirama beams. Tobirama resists the urge to bury his face in his palm, but Madara doesn’t actually seem to be bothered by his possible stalker. 

“So what can I get for you?” he asks instead, and Tobirama has a quick second to glance at the chalkboard (too far away to be helpful) above and decide while Hashirama rambles off the name of something he’s certain is more sugar than coffee, and possibly comes with whip cream. 

Madara turns to him and tilts his head, his bangs swaying with the movement. “Coffee, black, house blend.” He doesn’t get the enthusiastic expression that Hashirama does, but he does get a polite nod as Hashirama fishes in his pockets for change. As far as Tobirama is convinced, Hashirama owes him this one. 

He finds a seat at one of the tables, dark wood with red and white accents, just like the outside, and waits while Hashirama chats to Madara. Hashirama returns with drinks in real ceramic mugs and not paper ones, to his pleasant surprise. “To stay?” he asks, and Hashirama is near bouncing with delight, so much so that Tobirama fears a little for the state of his coffee. “To stay,” he confirms. 

“So you’ll never guess who I ran into the other day…” Hashirama tries to bait him into responding. 

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say Madara,” Tobirama replies in his signature deadpan. 

Hashirama shrugs, “Sort of? Technically I ran into Izuna when I was at the downtown campus, he’s a grad student apparently. We talked a little, I asked where I could find Madara, he said if I wanted his number I would have to ask, but he did mention where he worked. Can’t believe it’s been eight years since we moved here. Did you notice that Madara isn’t really any taller? You should see Izuna too, he’s short.” 

“Everyone is short next to you, brother.” Tobirama says, and then takes a sip of his coffee. It’s very good, a little bitter, but that’s his preference anyway. He sips away at it while Hashirama prattles on about his life, his girlfriend, his job, he waits until it’s socially acceptable to leave, and then he makes his escape. 

<3

The first time he comes back to the café on the corner, it’s because he runs out of k-cups on a weekend. He’s adverse to traversing the grocers when it’s packed and he knows that the shop really isn’t that far away, besides, walking is good for him. 

It’s fall now, and pumpkins join the roses in the window display, but the interior hasn’t changed at all. Madara’s working again, and when he makes it to the front of the line he gets a polite inquisition on Hashirama’s whereabouts. 

“No, he’s not around,” he says “I actually do live close by.” 

“That’s a bit of a surprise, I thought he was just being an idiot and making it up as an excuse,” Madara says in passing as he goes to pull a paper cup from the top shelf. Tobirama however, finds that using the paper to-go mug when he’s already here would be wasteful. 

“To stay,” he corrects, and he notices that Madara has to stand on his toes to reach the paper stack. He seems to take it in stride, shifting back on to his heels and pulling out a mug and a napkin from the eclectic collection on the lower shelf. It’s blue this time. 

“I thought your brother wasn’t coming,” he says, and Tobirama notices how deep his voice is now that it’s directed at him. 

He shrugs, “he isn’t. I’d just rather enjoy it hot.” 

Madara nods and hands the mug over, a man of few words, Tobirama notes, which seems in contradiction of what he knows secondhand from Hashirama, but it had been a number of years since they were close. Perhaps he’s changed. 

He’s glad that he anticipated sticking around as has in fact brought a book with him while he waits for the coffee to cool. While he’s never been all that interested in people watching, he can also note that while the cafe isn’t busy per se, the traffic is steady, and as the lunch hour approaches, a familiar face rolls in, one of the few grad students that he knows on sight in soft focus, partially by the massive red and white uchiwa fan on his jacket. 

Uchiha Kagami is still sporting a perpetual bedhead, so iconic that it’s likely a signature look. He’s brandishing an apron and appears to be relieving Madara of his shift or relocating him, dramatically. His hands make shoo-ing motions, and his smile is as intense as Madara’s scowl. Tobirama almost snorts in amusement, Kagami is a good kid, but it’s still funny to see Madara being bossed around by him. It’s late enough in the day though that he stacks his cup into the dishes bin near where the kitchen is, and catches a glimpse of Madara in the back, hair piled into a bun and alight with the glow from the numerous ovens. Perhaps he doesn’t usually work in the front, he thinks, and offers a wave to Kagami on his way out the door. 

<3

If the second time is coincidence, then the third time might be a habit. He runs out of K-cups on a weekend and decides it would be easier to just walk back to the cafe instead of taking his chances at the store. Kagami is working the counter, or he would be if he weren’t chatting with his friend over it. “Hang on, oh,” He looks up, “Tobirama, what can I get for you?” 

“House blend, black. To stay, and…” he brought his book with him again, and the shop had proven to be decently quiet before. “I’m not sure, a muffin maybe.” 

“Mhmm. What kind?” he asks, and although he has his glasses on, Tobirama doesn’t want to admit that the reason he always says house-blend is because his vision isn’t great, and he can’t actually make out anything the chalkboard above them says. He squints, but it doesn’t seem to improve anything. “Any kind, the special or whichever you recommend.” 

“Sure,” Kagami says, and rings him up. His mug today is green, and Kagami assures him the food will be right out. “You don’t actually want me to pick, I like the ones filled with jam and sugar, I’ll get Madara to do it.” 

The shop is busy enough that his friend -Danzo, Tobirama believes, distracts him again and Tobirama turns his attention to finding a table. The same one he used last time is available and he sees no reason to change that, it’s a little secluded and out of the way but also offers a light overhead to help with reading his book. 

“Are you a regular now?” Madara asks, sliding a plate with a slightly plain looking muffin his way. 

Tobirama shrugs and looks up from his book, “I don’t know.” 

His admittance earns him a raised eyebrow from Madara, so he elaborates. “I seem to run out of keurig cups on the weekends, and I can’t overwork myself if I leave my work at home.” 

“That sounds like an excuse. What is it that you do?” Madara asks. 

“I’m a biologist, technically,” he says. It’s true, he’s on contract for the university that Izuna frequents, by the sound of it. “R&D.” He takes a bite of the muffin, partially out of curiosity on what kind of muffin Madara thinks he would like, it’s lemon. It’s a very good lemon, not at all sugary or too strong. 

“That makes sense,” Madara nods, surveying the shop to see if he’s needed elsewhere. “I feel like I know you, but only secondhand. Hashirama loved and worshiped the ground you walked on and Izuna contemplated homicide throughout the entirety of high school based on your grade score rivalry, but I don’t actually know you.” 

It’s the most he’s ever heard Madara actually say, and it’s a little at odds with what he knows about Madara from his own secondhand account. He mostly only remembers Madara as a figure to be jealous over, as someone who captured his older brother’s attention with similar dreams and ambitions for the future, who had bonded later over lost fathers, something that once left Tobirama more bitter about Madara than ever, but he’s a logical man, and he’s willing to hold his judgement until he has a character to judge. 

“I can’t say I know you very well either, although I can tell you that Izuna’s rivalry was mostly one sided,” he allows himself to smirk ever so slightly, “after all, it’s only a rivalry if there’s a slight or equal chance that you can ever surpass them.” 

For that he earns Madara’s laughter, sharp and bold and it intrigues Tobirama more than anything else about him so far. 

“While if nothing else, Izuna would be very pissed to know that I’ve been spending time with you,” Madara says, “and I think I would like to get to know you, Hashirama speaks highly of you.”

“...and you respect his opinion?” It’s not a surprise that Hashirama would speak highly of him, but it is a surprise that Hashirama would think to speak about him at all, he knows how distracted he can get. It seems more likely the subject would be glossed over in favour of more exciting endeavors. 

“I do,” Madara says. “I work here on Saturdays, usually six to noon, sometimes one, if it’s busy.” 

It’s a statement, open ended, possibly even an invitation. 

“That’s early,” Tobirama observes, but he doesn’t wish to make a commitment. 

“It is,” he nods, “but I’m a Uchiha, we rise with the sun. Finish your coffee before it gets cold.” 

Madara makes his way back to the kitchens, and Tobirama takes a moment to mull over his thoughts on the conversation. He thinks maybe he wouldn’t mind hearing more of that deep voice, maybe startling the odd laugh out of Madara. Conventionally he’s attractive, his coloring is a pleasing contrast, his voice a steady timber. Tobirama’s never been intrigued by just a pretty face, but he thinks, perhaps he ought to run out of keurig cups again by next Saturday. 

<3

He doesn’t have much in the way of extra time the third time he visits, he’s supposed to meet his brother Itama later in the day to help him move into a different apartment. Itama is an intern at the hospital now and has decided he would rather just move close than try to take the bus all erratic hours of the night.

There would be something a little awkward about correcting Kagami about his order being “to stay” though, so he takes his mug to the table he usually resides at and vows to be quick anyway. Madara emerges from the kitchen to slide a croissant across his table. 

“Oh, I don’t believe I ordered that,” Tobirama comments. 

Madara shrugs, “I did.” 

“I’m short on time, Itama needs a hand moving his stuff today.” 

Madara raises an eyebrow, his expression is almost wistful “Your brother?” 

Tobirama nods. 

“Say ‘hi’ to Hashirama for me,” Madara says. “Doubtless he’ll be involved somewhere, not sure how useful he is.” 

“He isn’t, if I’m honest, he’ll probably just order the pizza when the rest of us are all done and sore,” he gets the start of a smile for that, and Tobirama himself is surprised how much it lightens the lines of Madara’s face. 

The bell at the front rings as a giggling group of teens walk in, and Madara offers him one last glance, considering maybe, judging by the head tilt. Then he straightens and heads back to the kitchen.

Tobirama doesn’t have time to wonder what he might have said, but the look he received was puzzling and he does spend the afternoon mindlessly moving cardboard boxes of Itama’s books and puzzling over it. In the end it’s like a stay leaf in the wind, and by evening he’s forgotten about it. 

<3

  
  


The following Saturday finds him back at the café, more aware perhaps that he is a creature of habit, and if by chance he shops for groceries every Sunday and only buys enough supplies for his new six pack of refillable K-cups, he will always have only one left by Saturday, and that one is reserved for Sunday. 

It’s busy today, but he waits in line and finds that it’s not Kagami working the till, but Kagami’s friend Danzo. He’s gruffer in demeanor, and he asks if he wants his order to stay or go. He looks at Tobirama like he’s grown a second head when he asks for “the muffin of the day” but he doesn’t question it, disappearing to the back to fetch said muffin and sliding it forward. The line behind Tobirama is longer that he’s ever seen it and he wonders if Kagami knew that today would be bad and skipped it on purpose. 

Today’s mug is white and his usual table is far enough towards the back that nobody has commandeered it. It’s also slightly quieter towards the kitchen, and if he looks up he can catch a glance of Madara traversing around, busy as the line is long. He has nowhere else to be today, and the coffee is just as good as always, so he pulls out the book he brought along and gets lost for a little while. 

He stacks his notes and one of the textbooks on the table. Tobirama has decided that he feels comfortable here, and instead of his usual large font, he’s actually brought out one of his books in braille. His head dips towards the table and he lets his eyes close as his fingers fly over the pages. It’s a relief to his eyes and to his soul to read something in his preferred font. 

He’s startled slightly by the sound of a plate being placed on the table. A brief glance assures him that the café has mostly quieted down, even if the details are a little hazy, before his eyes turn to focus themselves on Madara. He’s slid a plate with two sandwiches onto the table, helping himself to the first one. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” 

“No, the first Saturday of the season is when we change the bakery menu, and the only day we do two for one coffees. So I come in at five and get to be done early,” Madara says. He slides the other sandwich over to Tobirama, “besides it’s lunchtime, you’re usually gone by then. No relatives to help today?” 

“No, how about you?” he asks, surprised to find himself genuinely curious.

“I’m the eldest of five, but only Izuna lives near, and my cousins Kagami and Hikaku can take care of themselves.” 

“How fortunate,” Tobirama says, inspecting the sandwich he’s been offered. Brie and ham perhaps? “All of my family live around here and none of them can take care of themselves, well, except Touka… maybe Itama.” 

Madara snorts, “Oh I believe you, I’ve met a few of them. At least Mito seems up to the job of making sure Hashirama wears shoes when he leaves the house.” 

“She is uniquely competent, I agree.” 

Madara nods and they fall into a silence as he checks his phone and Tobirama eats. It’s good, but he’s not entirely sure why Madara is spending his time off with him and bringing him food, but he’s nothing if not polite. “Thank you,” he says. 

“You’re welcome, the food is the best perk of the job,” Madara says. “Kagami’s branch of the family owns the building, and the business I suppose, so on the days I work I get one free coffee and also lunch.” 

“So do you only work here?” Tobirama asks, he’s under the impression that Madara is possibly just helping out with the family shop, but he’s not presumptuous enough to outright say it. 

Madara shakes his head and some of his hair escapes it’s pins. “No, I rehabilitate wildlife, birds of prey mostly but other stuff too, I went to school for that, this is more of a hobby, and my family means a lot. It was supposed to be just a shift or two till we got it covered but by now I told them not to bother. Did you bring your work with you today?”

Tobirama takes a moment to glance at his book and his notes, his writing is messy and his textbooks are braile or large print, but Madara doesn’t comment on that. “The book is related, but my notes are for my hobby, biohacking. I haven’t made any actual modifications, but I like working on the theoretical.” 

“So if that’s your hobby, what is your work, beyond just biology?” Madara asks. 

Tobirama is a little surprised that Madara is even interested. “I’m a private contractor at the university, I work in the department of scientific design, the project is dedicated to creating eco-friendly ways of designing material goods in relation to textiles, architecture, and medical equipment. Some of the grad students are involved, that’s how I know Kagami.” 

“So like bamboo forks and stuff?” 

Tobirama nods, “at its most simplistic; yes. More specifically I’m currently involved in alternatives to sterile plastics for use in medical equipment, including everything from plastic syringes to surgical robots.” 

“You know, Hashirama always said you were the smart one, but it’s one thing hearing it from Hashirama, who’s biggest muscle is a competition between his heart and his biceps, and another thing to actually speak to you,” Madara says, his tone almost bordering on a drawl, lips almost turned up into a smirk. If Tobirama didn’t know better, he’d question if Madara was flirting with him, as it is he assumes he’s teasing him. 

“I should have known Izuna wouldn’t have been singing my praises to you from our time in school.” 

“Oh,” Madara’s smirk is fully realized now. “He sung alright, but I cannot call any of his words ‘praise.’” 

“Always so dramatic,” Tobirama says, he goes to take another sip of his coffee and realizes that it’s empty. It was sure to be cold, with his conversational distraction but he hadn’t realized how much time had passed. 

Madara reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, and yet more strands of wild hair break free of where it’s pinned into a bun. Tobirama can’t help his eyes following the movement. “Yeah, that was his major.” 

“Drama?” 

“I shit you not.” Madara catches his eyes with that statement and his expression is so intense that Tobirama bursts out in laughter. It’s a joyous if restrained sound, and Madara’s expression softens in turn. 

“I can’t say I saw that coming, but I’m also not all that surprised,” Tobirama. “He may be uniquely suited to dramatics.” 

“According to him, you would have been too, but I find that if I believed everything he said I may have misjudged you.” 

“And yet you are going out of your way to spend time with me.” Tobirama points out. 

“Once I believed every word he said, but I know how good of a bluffer he can be, besides, I think I have the right to form my own opinion.” 

“A good opinion is an unbiased one, I agree, so what do you think?” 

“I think it’s late and I have places to be, but I would like to continue researching until I have one. Will you be here next Saturday.” 

“I plan to run out of stashed coffee in my house on Friday night.”

“I’m off at one.” 

Tobirama nods and slips his book back into his messenger bag as Madara stacks the plates and the mug. 

“See you then.” 

<3

Tobirama doesn’t bother talking to Danzo when he comes back again on Saturday, it’s just past noon and he could really use a coffee, but he thinks that it would be easier to nab a table and wait for the lunchtime rush to quiet down. When the crowd does start to dissipate, most of them carrying out the paper cups and bags of snacks, the shop quiets down drastically. Tobirama likes that about the lunch crowd, they’re not here to stay. It’s a bit of a boutique area, so he suspects most are nearby employees on break. 

By the time he’s decided to get up and order a coffee, Danzo’s switched out on his break, and Madara’s watching the register. 

“What can I get for you?” 

“Coffee,” he replies, he orders the same thing everytime, so he’s not quite sure what Madara means by that. 

“I know you usually get the house blend black, but are you sure you don’t want a red eye? Or anything with espresso? You look like you could use it.” 

“Oh,” Tobirama replies. He’s torn between admitting he can’t read the menu and just taking what Madara offers. 

“It’s not busy, your brother isn’t here. I’ve seen your textbooks Tobirama, and what you read for fun,” Madara says, and for all his brother’s stories and the stupidity that he recalls being told about, he’s reminded that Madara by himself is neither stupid nor unobservant. “I could read it for you, if you wanted.” 

“What?” he asks, still a little sleepy from the lack of caffeine, and now feeling off balance from both the offer and if he’s honest, the low tone that Madara uses to make the offer. 

Madara is giving him that strange, considering look that he recalls from the last time they talked, but still doesn’t know what it means. “I could read it for you, if you liked. Or you could tell me what you think you want, and I could guess.” 

If he reads the menu, there’s a whole offering of words that Tobirama can enjoy in the timber of Madara’s voice, it’s too great an offering to turn down, and there’s still nobody waiting yet. “Alright, go ahead.” 

Madara’s eyes widen only slightly before he nods, he turns to look up at the chalkboard, “hot or cold?” 

He’s short enough that the counter digs into the small of his back, and he presses his palms against it and boosts himself up to sit on top of it, leaning back so he’s close enough to Tobirama that he doesn’t have to raise his voice. “There’s the one you always get; Medium roast house blend, but there’s also dark roast house blend, cafe mocha-oh that one is too sweet, red eye, black eye, dead eye, please don’t order the dead eye, it’s three shots of espresso in a regular house blend coffee, meant to wake the dead. There’s hot chocolate, autumn apple cider-which is seasonal and more spicy than sweet really, and tea; chai, jasmine, or fermented.” 

“That is a lot to choose from,” Tobirama observes. “What do you recommend?” 

“Did you actually ask me to read all of that and then make a recommendation?” Madara tilts his head just to raise his eyebrows, his bangs find time to escape the messy clip that all his hair has been shoved into and Tobirama watches them fall, curious about his own urge to touch them. “Well, for you, I’d say the red eye, to match your...aesthetic.” 

“Great,” he nods. “I’ll take a black eye to stay.” _To match yours,_ he leaves unsaid, but the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly and gives away his amusement. 

Madara slides off the counter with a small huff of his own amusement and goes to find a cup. 

“Should I also describe the snack menu?” he asks and his eyes betray his amusement, but once again his smile is kind. 

Tobirama shakes his head before realizing Madara has his back to him. “No, that’s fine, I trust your judgement there, and I assume that the food menu changes too often for me to keep up.” 

Madara hums and slides a menu across the counter. “Only the bakery items, everything else is permanent or only changes per season. You can still order a surprise muffin anytime.” Tobirama is about to slide it back before he realizes that it’s in an extra large font and he can in fact read it. Drinks on one side, food on the other. “Is this for me?” he asks, uniquely touched. 

“And for anyone who needs it. It was made with a particular regular in mind though, since you asked. Here, take your coffee, I’ll meet you at your table when Danzo comes back, shouldn't be too long, but I’m sure you have a book.” 

Close up the coffee is artful, a ring of white surrounded by a blob of black, he’s willing to bet it’s probably a perfect circle. It doesn't take long before Madara is sliding across from him on the other side of the table, a coffee in his own hand. It’s a very large coffee. 

“Tired?” Tobirama asks. 

“Yeah, Izuna is a little shit. Called me up late last night about a girl that caught his eye,” Madara emphasises the tired by rubbing his own eyes as he says it, “he said she kicked some kind of ass, but it could be metaphorical or completely literal knowing him. Either way, late night early morning. I get to drink the dead eye coffee. Knowing my luck he’ll end up trying to date her.” 

“Is he usually successful?” Tobirama asks. 

Madara shrugs. “He’s the pretty one, and he’s a more of a smooth talker than me, so that usually helps.” 

Tobirama considers for a moment how much he enjoys hearing Madara talk, and how much he doesn't enjoy listening to Izuna. He’s not really sure how to say it, but it doesn’t matter, Madara continues speaking and Tobirama is swept along with the words. “Not that it really matters, he usually goes after the kind of girl that can beat him up and is less than impressed with his appearance.” 

“What about you?” Tobirama asks, and he’s not sure if it qualifies as flirting or just genuine interest. “What do you go for?” 

“Men usually, but ideally someone I can feel like I’m on equal footing with,” Madara admits, leaning back in his chair. “You?” 

“Someone I can talk to,” Tobirama admits. “Or just listen to; if I’m honest.” 

Madara sips at his coffee. “Just to clarify, do you have a preference?” 

Tobirama lets his eyelids drift close and takes a long sip of his own coffee, it’s strong, and not something he would want all the time, but it’s delicious and bitter and rich. “I’m an equal opportunist, I just appreciate a really good effort. Anything worth having is worth earning.” 

“Well said,” Madara agrees. “What would you consider a good effort?” 

“The large font on the menu was certainly a good start.” 

Madara is giving him that look again, half considering, eyes heavily lidded, “and if I asked you to dinner?” 

“Give it a couple weeks, I want to get to know you better before I agree to that,” Tobirama says. “That’s not a ‘no’ though.” 

“I can understand that. I’m still here on Saturdays, we can meet after my shift. I’ll give you my number too, in case something comes up.” 

Tobirama agrees and gives Madara his number in return, “just in case something comes up.” 

<3

Touka calls him out of the blue on the following Thursday with a “we need to talk, I need to tell you something.” Since it’s not Hashirama calling, Tobirama decides it’s probably important enough that it’s not just going to be a phone call. “Well, we could get coffee, Saturday morning?” 

“Are you Hashirama now? You go out and get coffee? What happened to the offer of your keurig and the generous spot on your floor since you only have one chair.” 

“I’ve been informed that it’s not very comfortable or hospitable to invite people over to my single chair abode.” 

“Well it’s not,” Touka says, and Tobirama doesn’t need to be in the same room to imagine her pinched expression, “but I’ve always assumed that was absolutely the point of it.” 

“Of course, it's hard to overstay your welcome that way,” Tobirama replies in an equally dry tone. 

“Speaking of, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you Saturday at ten in the morning, text me the place name, I’ve got a gps on my phone now. Oh, and don’t tell Hashirama, I’ll tell him myself, eventually.”   
  


<3

“Here? Really? Are you certain you aren’t Hashirama?” Touka asks when she meets him outside. It’s colder now, but not so cold they can see their breath hang in the air yet. The fall display in the window has been replaced once again by fake snow and an artful gingerbread pagoda that Tobirama can smell as soon as he opens the door. 

“I’m certain. I like it here,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate. 

Danzo is working today and if he looks surprised to see Tobirama with a guest, his face doesn’t give it away. Instead he starts pulling out cups for coffee and slides over the large font menu from the basket where it sits on the counter. 

Touka is intrigued especially by the handwritten scroll at the top that reads “Tobirama” in elegant penmanship, but is distracted by the menu herself when Danzo asks what she wants. She orders a cider and something to eat when Tobirama adds his as well. 

“Dark roast house blend, black and a surprise muffin.” 

Danzo nods although Touka searches the chalkboard for ‘surprise muffin’ while Tobirama pays. 

Tobirama picks up both drinks when Danzo slides the mugs over and directs Touka to his usual table. 

“You had something to talk about?” he asks. 

Touka appears puzzled but is trying to be composed about it, Tobirama is highly amused, waiting to see if she’ll take the bait and ask outright about the coffee shop. 

“Hang on, don’t we need to get our food from the counter?” she asks, and it’s not direct but he can see her curiosity getting the best of her. 

He shakes his head, “no, they’ll bring it out from the kitchen.” 

“I didn’t see ‘surprise muffin’ on the menu,” she continues. 

“It’s on my menu,” he replies.

“Yeah, your personalized font- labeled with your name right on it- menu,” She presses, her brows raised higher above her almond shaped eyes. 

He nods, “yes that’s the one.” 

“You are insufferable,” she says. 

He almost smiles, but that would be conceding to the game, instead he nods, “I’m aware.” 

They’re both too engaged in their staring contest to notice Madara has made his way over with a couple plates. The ring of the ceramic on the table makes both of them look up. 

“Madara,” Tobirama acknowledges, “Thank you.”

“Oh,” says Touka.”Uchiha, I didn’t know you were in town. You work here?” 

“Sometimes,” Madara replies, dryly, suggesting he’s picked up on Tobirama’s game. “When it suits me.” 

He offers Tobirama a nod before he leaves back to the kitchen. Tobirama takes a moment to inspect today's muffin. It’s some variety of banana, with cranberries he suspects. “Surprise muffin?” 

“Yeah, whatever Madara picks from what he’s making today.” 

“You come here everyday?” she asks, incredulous. As someone who he’s always been close to, he supposed that’s a fair reaction. He’d be upset if she decided to pick up a habit like that and didn’t tell him. 

“No, just Saturdays.”

She nods, mostly placated, “and Madara works here all the time?” 

For that she earns a soft smile as Tobirama takes a bite of his muffin. “No, just Saturdays.” 

“Well my news is now a lot less dramatic,” she shrugs. “I was going to ask you if you remember your old school rivalry with Uchiha Izuna, but evidently you do. So then I was going to tell you that I ran into him.” 

“No less dramatic, Izuna is always full of drama, I’ve been assured it hasn’t faded with age,” Tobirama replies. “Note that I did not state ‘maturity.’”

“Yeah, he asked me out, after I threatened to punch this other idiot in the dick.” 

“That’s what he goes for?” He asks. “Huh.” 

Touka crosses her arms, “I’m _plenty_ pretty enough.” 

The coffee is perfect today, and he’s glad to have made the distinction between the regular house blend and the dark roast. “and violent… which, knowing Izuna, was probably the selling point.” 

“Yeah, so I wasn’t sure what to say and nobody has ever really thought that my punching skills were the part of me that they liked,” Touka says, her eyes slide down to her coffee. “So I said yes.” 

“Do you like him?” he asks, he feels surprised but not shocked in any way. Although Izuna’s rivalry with him didn’t start out in any way friendly, time had worn down the edges into a begrudging respect by the time they graduated. 

“I don’t know, I mean, I hardly know him, but I think I _could_ like him.” 

“I get that, I really do,” he agrees. 

Touka takes a moment to glance at his surprise muffin, and then to the kitchen where Madara is. “Surprise muffin?” she asks. 

“Something like that,” he says. 

“I’m happy for you. Even if he’s not the cute brother.” 

“No, he’s not.” says Tobirama, both he and Madara are in agreement that Izuna is the pretty one, although he can’t recall what their younger brothers looked like. “But have you heard him talk?” 

“Thank you for that image cousin,” she says as she wrinkles her nose. “I didn’t need to know exactly what you see in him.” 

“You’re very welcome,” he says. 

“Insufferable little shit, I have places to be, but I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.”

“Please do, and don’t tell Hashirama where he can find me on Saturday.” 

She laughs loudly before she gets her coat and he stands to say goodbye. 

Tobirama goes back to his loose-leafs and notebook for a while while he waits for Madara to be done with his shift. It doesn’t take long before Madara is pulling up a chair and passing a mug over to Tobirama. 

“Try this,” he says, and Tobirama takes it from him curiously. It’s pale colored and it smells like spices. 

Tobirama looks up to ask “what is it?” 

“Nothing on the menu,” Madara replies. “Something that’s good when it's cold out, and you’ve met your quota on caffeine for the day.” 

He takes a sip, tentatively at first before he decides it’s definitely some kind of chai. Overall, it’s sweet at first with an afterbite of spice. “It’s not bad.” 

“Chai tea steeped in weak white hot chocolate. Do not tell anyone that I have a sweet tooth,” Madara says. 

Tobirama smiles down at his drink and tries to hide his laughter. “Brother would love to hear that, you could bond over your love of sugar. No, I won’t ruin your image. Does Izuna like sweets?” 

Madara’s eyes flick to the side, and he hums a little in thought. “Not exactly, not like cakes or pastries anyway, I guess I'm particular too, not a fan of baked sweets. He has a weakness for ice cream, even in the dead of winter. I like my sweets hot, except in coffee, that’s just sacrilege. It’s not supposed to be sweet. Sorry, I’m talking too much.” 

It’s Tobirama’s turn to hum. “I don’t mind, I like listening to your voice. Also I solved a mystery earlier.” 

“Yeah?” Madara asks, “What scientific wonder are you discovering today.” 

Tobirama glances at his beat up notebook, papers askew, and answers “helminth immunomodulation as it relates to autoimmune disease, but that’s just a scientific study, it’s not a mystery. No, my cousin Touka just left, but she had an answer to our conversation last week. Turns out she threatened to and I quote “punch this other idiot in the dick” and there’s Izuna, primed to ask her out.” 

“Your cousin Touka?” Madara asks. 

He nods, “Second cousin a few times removed if you want to get technical, but she’s always been pretty close and is a trusted friend of mine.” 

“Well, if she hurts him, he probably deserves it to be honest,” Madara sighs. “Wait, did she say yes?” 

“She agreed to at least go out with him and see where it goes, it seems like she likes him well enough,” Tobrirama says. “I think it helps that he wasn’t intimidated by her, most people are too afraid of her to try so she rarely gets asked.” 

“I can’t blame them, most of the Senju I’ve met are pretty intimidating, Hashirama is absolutely the black sheep,” Madara shifts his hand up to rest the side of his face on it, and Tobirama is reminded that Madara likely got up at five in the morning and has done a whole work shift in the kitchen just to save Kagami’s family the trouble of hiring someone else. It’s sweet, he thinks, how much he cares for family. 

“Oh,” Tobirama exclaims. “Do you find me intimidating?” 

“I used to, I’m really smart and I’m well educated,” Madara starts, “but you make what I can do into child’s play. I can’t always keep up, although I recall you being a lot more smug? Maybe old age has granted you humbleness?” 

Tobirama does laugh at that, “no, not old age, I’m younger than you. Teaching, teaching has absolutely brought me that ‘humbleness’ as you say. No matter how smart I think I am, one of the students will sometimes say something completely prolific as if it’s a simple idea and it just occurred to them someone might want to hear this small thought they had. The more older and experienced I get, the more I am aware of how much I don’t know, and how much I want to find out.” 

“Yeah,” Madara nods, “you get that way with wildlife rehabilitation too. I have a background in ecology, but it’s kind of an odd assortment of random skills. Leadership is a huge part of it, I answer a call to pick up an animal and I have to basically assess the scene and come up with a plan for that situation. There’s also a lot of odd accounting and paperwork related to a small not-for-profit business.” 

Tobirama lets his eyes drift to Madara’s hands, one curled around the mug, and follows up to the one supporting the side of his jaw. He’s pretty sure that he could listen to Madara just talk for hours, and it hits him almost all at once that maybe Touka was on to something. He hardly knows Madara, not really, but if potential was a taste on his tongue, then sweet at first, with an afterbite of spice, could be something he might willingly drown in. 

“Sometimes,” Madara continues, and the low tones of his voice sparks a warmth and curiosity in Tobirama, like with the awakening of that potential he could imagine what it would be like to steal those words away and leave Madara breathless. He takes a deep, calming breath and tries to refocus. “-It would be easier if I had just decided I liked the fires of the kitchen more than the draw of assisting birds with their people problems, but I like what I do.” 

“I suppose you get to do both now,” Tobirama muses. 

Madara nods, and a smile slowly stretches across his face as he blinks, equally slow. Tobirama wonders if he had been closer, if he could have seen the expression completely smooth out over Madara’s face. 

“Yeah, I do, I don’t believe in fate, but I don’t have any regrets about taking either job,” he says. 

They fall into comfortable silence as Tobirama checks his phone for the time and Madara finishes off his drink. Tobirama notices and pushes the rest of his over muttering “it’s good, but I can’t finish it, go ahead.” 

Madara’s expression perks up a little in surprise but he finishes off the rest of Tobirama’s drink anyway even though by now it’s more spice than sweet and by no means hot. 

“You’d tell me if you actually didn’t like it, right?” Madara asks. “You don’t have to do something just because you think it’s polite.” 

“I’m afraid you don’t know me as well as you should if you think that politeness is something I worry about,” Tobirama looks back up to meet Madara’s eyes. “Dignity is essential to me, but propriety is entirely another matter.” 

“I would like to know you better,” Madara says, and then backpedals as if he’s surprised that he said it, “I mean…” 

“Yes,” Tobirama nods. He’s sure, he never does anything that he isn’t completely sure of. “I work nine to fives, and I only know some of your schedule, but I presume that you’re free Saturday nights?” 

Madara nods, “yes, I mean, I’m free Saturday nights.” 

“Alright. It’s a date, next Saturday at six. Where would you like to go?” 

“Hmm, I’m not picky to be honest. Do you drive or can I pick you up?” 

“I’m legally blind,” Tobirama states. “Even with custom contacts, or well, that’s how they measure legal blindness anyway.” 

“I didn’t want to presume,” Madara says, “I can pick you up. My job sort of requires me to have a car, and I don’t actually live close to here, it’s like a half hour drive when there’s no traffic at 5 am, I’m not sure I would have agreed if I was bussing it.” 

“You already know I’m not far from here, but I’ll text you the address. I’ll probably still be here in the morning but Hashirama has been pestering me so likely he’ll be here too. Let’s not tell him anything about our date just yet.” 

“Agree, note that I’m also fine with never telling him so that we can survive in-asphyxiated by hugs of death for the next seventy or so years.” 

“Noted,” Tobirama says. “Realize though that at some point he may work it out himself.” 

“A cold day in hell indeed,” Madara grumbles, to which Tobirama laughs and with a final confirmation that he’ll text Madara the address, he packs up his bag and they leave the café together. 

<3

Tobirama doesn’t need to purposely run out of K cups, because it seems Hashirama has taken it upon himself to call again and ask “when can we meet up?” To which the answer is Saturday morning. Tobirama is pleasantly surprised that Hashirama suggests the same location as he usually likes variety but he supposes it has the added benefit of being the workplace of an old friend. 

“Great, I’m bringing along Mito, maybe Itama or Kawarama or Touka.” 

“Basically anyone you can rope into coming along?” Tobirama asks dryly

“Don’t be mean Tobi, it’s not like we can all come visit you for family dinner or something, you own _one chair._ ” He puts an emphasis on it that Tobirama isn’t appreciative of in light of the success of his genius plan to never have to host or cook for anyone but himself. “You also never come out to visit so I figure it's the only way for us to see you is to meet in the middle.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, I saw you a few weeks ago at Itama’s and I’ll see you again in three days. Ten am, don’t be late.” 

Hashirama is almost late. It’s almost good news for Tobi because he can order his coffee and muffin from Kagami and not bring any attention to the menu they keep on the counter in a basket for him. Unlike Danzo, Kagami waltzes into the kitchen himself to fetch said muffin and Tobirama isn’t sure if that speaks more to Danzo’s grumpy manor and observation skills or to Kagami’s cheerful attitude and lack of any observational skills. Kagami is everything he would hope for in a student of protege, but unless it’s something he’s interested in, he wears some serious blinders. 

By the time Hashirama arrives, Tobirama is seated at his usual table at the back and has already texted that he’s at the back. Hashirama appears to have only roped Mito into accompanying him, and she looks as impeccable as ever. 

Tobirama has a moment to feel grateful that he got here first because while Hashirama doesn’t really notice the subtleties between people, Mito is incredibly good at it, and worse, she takes an interest in it. Part of the reason Hashirama doesn’t notice it simply because he doesn’t care to. 

“Good morning Tobirama,” Mito says as she pulls a chair from a nearby table to tuck into his. He can smell the apple cider from where Hashirama has deposited their mugs on the table and it’s enough to know that Madara is working today. He’s fond of Hashirama and his cup is boasting a large cinnamon stick and whipped cream bubbling over the top, which can’t be the usual. He’s willing to bet there is some sort of caramel going on, but he can’t make it out on sight alone.

“It’s so good to see you Brother, you really need to get out more!” Hashirama interjects. 

“It can’t be good for you to sit around your house just working, and reading, you need the beauty of the outdoors.” 

Tobirama sighs “right, the outdoors, where it’s snowing lightly, slushy and so bright I need to wear tinted lenses. I am absolutely made for the outdoors.” 

“Well, you could come by our place and check out what Mito has done to the sunroom. It’s so full of all the plants I keep bringing home from work that it’s like the outdoors inside. It’s just missing a koi pond and a bridge or something.” Mito nods along with Hashirama’s excitement. “Promise me you’ll come see it one day?” 

“I suppose,” he says. “It will be such a hardship, but if you insist I must.” 

Mito giggles a little at his sarcasm. “Yes we must insist, we worry about you Tobirama.” 

“I just hung out with Touka last week, I’m basically a social butterfly,” he says, brevity and clarity offered without nuance. 

“Did you really?” she asks, and he can almost see the bait that she’s hoping to catch him with, not that he’s not guilty of provoking Touka in the same way, it’s just that he’s above being bated. 

He nods instead, “I did, she too ran into Uchiha Izuna and later ended up meeting up with me in this caffe. It appears Izuna has that effect on people.” 

“Visiting this caffe?” She asks. Hashirama is blowing on his cider to cool it, frowning into his drink and thinking way too hard about something. 

“No,” he smiles, “the immediate need for caffeine is all I can attribute to him.” 

“Speaking of Izuna, Madara isn’t working today? I was hoping to see him,” Hashirama says. 

“He’s in the kitchen,” Tobirama says without thinking. It’s automatic, he knows that 

Madara is working today, and from his chair he’s even seen him fluttering from one oven to the next, the large metal clip holding his hair shining with glare under the lights. 

Mito smiles slyly, “is he now?”

“It’s Saturday,” he says, he sees the trap and he’s walking into it, but he’s never been good at brushing off Mito entirely. “We’re friendly enough.” 

“Oh that’s so good to hear, you need more friends in your life Tobirama, or at least ones that aren’t also just your university science-y nerd acquaintances.” 

“Right,” Tobirama pinches the bridge of his nose, he misses the timber of Madara’s voice and his steady, quiet energy immensely right now, “because nothing says ‘I’m not a science nerd’ than your PHD in forestry.” 

“I study plants _and_ ecosystems! Plants are so much cooler that whatever you’re doing over there in your lab, at least they’re alive,” Hashirama says, and Tobiriama resists the urge to tell him that half of his projects were also alive. “Mito agrees, right?” 

“I’m sure lots of Tobirama’s projects are alive as well dear,” Mito says and the conversation drifts around to work, then to the weather until Tobirama is quite tired of the small talk. He resists the urge to reach for his book and instead tries to busy himself with eating his muffin as slowly as he can while still looking natural. Eventually Hashirama tries to invite him to come back to his place to check out the greenhouse. 

“I have plans,” he counters, but Hashirama brushes him off with a wave, “sitting at home reading another medical paper isn’t what one can consider plans, I swear you were a bad influence on Itama, he has no social life either.” 

“Itama is an intern in the medical profession, it’s hardly an insult that he’s a credit to his profession. Kawarama is just unusually outgoing in comparison,” Tobirama insists. 

“What are you doing tonight that’s so important you can’t even come and check out the sunroom then? It’s a sunroom, I can’t believe anyone would pass on that without a good reason.” 

Tobirama reaches up to rub his eyes, a nervous habit perhaps. “If I tell you, you have to promise me that you will not freak out, or yell or ask any questions.” 

“Alright, no yelling, no shouting, can I hug you?” he asks. 

Tobirama shakes his head in disapproval, “no hugs, and no questions.” 

“No questions,” Mito pipes in and nods. Tobirama takes a moment to consider their sincerity, and when he finds it to be genuine he tells them exactly what his plans are. 

“I have a date,” he says.

Mito’s eyes widen and her hands grip tighter around her mug. Hashirama’s eyes widen and he can hear the thud of Mito’s boot kicking him in the shin. “I,” he proclaims and it’s _loud,_ there’s another thud and his voice drops to a dramatic whisper, “have so many questions though.” 

“Too bad,” Tobirama replies, his eyes narrowed and daring. 

“Well that is a surprise,” Mito says, her tone softens with her acceptance. “I hope that it’s a good date, and that maybe you’ll fill us in eventually.” 

“If it goes well then it will eventually be inevitable that you know, but otherwise I don’t want to talk about it,” he says. 

“Well,” she continues. “I look forward to hearing about it then.” 

“ _So many questions,”_ Hashirama whispers to himself, “but fine, I’ll let you get back to your book as Kawarama doesn't have plans and is coming to see the sunroom. Oh, maybe you could invite your date to come see the sunroom.” 

“No, we already have plans,” Tobriama says, even though he only hopes they have plans. He’s left that part up to Madara, so it’s mostly up to him. 

Hashirama chooses to pout and say "your loss.” 

They get caught up in talking about Mito’s plans to renovate the rest of the old house they bought together for a while before the lunchtime crowd comes in, and Hashirama tries to insist on bothering Madara into coming by their greenhouse tonight, because Tobirama can’t because he has a date. 

“Can you believe it? An actual real live date.” Hashirama whispers loudly. 

Madara shakes his head, but his hair stays in it’s clip today. “I cannot believe it. Who do you think it is?”

“I have no clue,” Hashirama laments. “He won’t tell me anything.” 

Tobirama smiles as Madara steers the conversation away from why he won’t be coming over tonight either before he says his goodbyes and leaves Hashirama’s dramatics for the others to deal with. 

<3

There isn’t really anything he plans to do for the afternoon, but he finds himself at his apartment, taking out his slate and stylus and decides to write his notes in braille to better archive them since it’s personal research. As it nears six, he takes stock of his appearance, he’s wearing the same black slacks and grey tee-shirt that Madara already saw him in earlier. He contemplates changing, but in the end decides that it doesn’t matter, he’s comfortable and that’s more important. 

Madara texts him that he’s here ten minutes early and Tobirama grabs his blue jacket and heads out front. He wagers a guess as he climbs into the car that Madara didn’t really change either. Sure there’s no apron or hair clip, but the black jacket and black pants are probably the same ones. He can’t tell how long Madar’s hair actually is in soft focus, but he resists the urge to reach out and touch it. 

“Hey, I guess we didn’t really plan this but I have an idea if you don’t,” Madara says. 

Tobirama shrugs, “anywhere is fine I’m sure.” 

“Hn,” he nods once and starts the car. They let the drive elapse in silence before Madara pulls into a lot with a sign in bright red characters. 

“Japanese?” Tobirama guesses from the colors. 

“Yeah, Ramen.” Madara says as they get out. “Kagami likes it here.” 

“Did you ask Kagami for date spot advice?” 

“No!” Madara holds his hands up defensively as Tobirama’s heart erupts in mirth. “I just, hmn. Yes, yes I did.” 

The food is hot and Tobirama amuses himself as Madara contemplates all the choices aloud so he can hear, even though he likely already knows what he’s ordering. Like most places to eat, the lights are slightly dim and the tables intimate. He’s close enough he can even read most of Madara’s expressions. Tobriama even thinks to himself that he knows Madara well enough to read the expression in his tone, and isn’t that an interesting thought. Madara talks more than he does, but even the long stretches where they fall silent are comfortable. 

“I wouldn’t be adverse, you know, if you wanted to do this again,” Tobirama confides. “I’m not sure how well we would have gotten along when we were younger, but you’ve earned my respect and that alone is intriguing.” 

Madara hums in agreement when Tobirama has a thought. “Also, I think you are rather attractive.” 

“Just think?” Madara jokes, his head tilts to the side and his hair follows with it. It’s so dark that Tobirama still can’t tell how long it is, blending into the black of his shirt. 

He nods, “Yeah, you’d have to be a lot closer for me to really see you, but I like that you’re passionate, that you care so much for your family. You are full of fire Madara, and that is attractive.” 

“Well,” he says, and Tobirama can hear the smugness in his voice, “I am a Uchiha.”

“Smug bastards, the lot of them, I agree,” Tobirama nods. “I’ll make an exception for Kagami.” 

“I’m not sure I can deny that,” Madara says. “He is the family sheep. His hair even _curls_.” 

“What?” Tobirama asks, “I've never been so close as to check. Does it really?” Madara indulges him in all sorts of stories of trouble that Kagami has graced him with over the years. 

Eventually they find that servers are packing up, and take it upon themselves to leave so they can close up. Madara thinks to offer up his place for coffee so they can keep chatting, but it’s an hour away. Tobirama smiles and says he has a keurig and is close, but he only has one chair. 

“What do you mean, you only have one chair?” Madara asks as he pulls up in front of Tobirama’s apartment building. 

Tobirama shrugs. “I mean, I only have one chair in the whole apartment. My brothers all live nearby but I’m central, I need some way to deter them from turning my place into the family meeting ground. Also Hashirama.”

“I understand why he dragged you out to go to coffee,” Madara says. 

Tobirama nods sagely, “I would welcome you up, perhaps if it was a bit earlier in the evening, but I’d like to take this slow, and that would decidedly not be slow.” 

“And you only have one chair,” Madara makes a note. 

Tobirama nods again, “You are correct, I do have something I can give you before you go, though.” 

Madara hums low, and Tobirama leans in close enough that he can reach his fingers up to smooth out his furrowed brow, and run the pads of them along Madara’s sharp cheekbones and down to his chin. “A kiss, if you would like it.” 

At this, Madara steadies one of his hands against the center console and the other around the back of Tobirama’s neck. They meet somewhere in the middle, breath catching and the taste of weak tea on their lips. 

Tobirama smiles into the kiss as laughter threatens to spill from his lips, “I didn’t expect that I would like you this much.” 

“That makes two of us,” Madara says, his voice low in his throat, a kiss lingering at the corner of Tobirama’s upturned lips. 

Tobirama takes a moment to search Madara’s eyes up close, dark as charcoal and deep as the ocean. He reaches up to sweep dark bangs away from where they’ve fallen across Madara’s pale face, he can feel the weight and the coarseness of the strands, understands to heavy it must be for Madara to tie it all up on his head. In following it, he finds that it keeps going at least down to his waist. Longer than he thought, and wilder too. Up close, Madara goes from attractive to stunning, from a pretty koi pond to a rare gem of a mountain lake. 

“You are beautiful,” he says, even though the words can’t embody what he feels. 

Madara’s expression doesn’t change and he searches Tobirama’s face like he’s worried that what’s before his eyes is just a dream he needs to memorize before he wakes. “Your eyes are like rubies.” 

Tobirama presses his forehead against Madara and closes his eyes to hide his blush. Madara stares on, bold and unashamed. 

“Next Saturday?” Tobirama asks instead. 

“I’ll pick you up at six,” is his reply. With one last flash of a soft smile, he’s gone. 

Climbing out of the car and up the ladder to cloud nine. Or at least the third floor where his appartement and it’s emptiness are all together more apparent than they have ever been. There’s one lonely coffee mug, the only one he owns, and the single chair is glaringly apparent when he can picture Madara bent over the table across from him. 

“Oh,” he says aloud as it hits him a force and a loneliness that he had almost convinced himself was everything he wanted. “Fuck.” 

<3

Madara seems to take the suggestion to go slow to almost crawl, and Tobirama wonders at least thrice if it’s actually part of his strategy to go so slow that Tobriama, in his frustration, is driven to madness and eventually pins him down. The second, third and fourth dates go rather like the first, conversation both witty and dry as well as soft whispering confessions of insecurities nobody was meant to hear under bright lights. There’s always food somewhere, but it doesn’t matter where, and there are kisses that make Tobirama reconsider the status of his chair situation. After the second date they start calling each other, talking on the phone late into the night when they don’t have time for dates or when Madara’s out of town to visit family.

“What does the hotel look like this time?” Tobirama asks, he’s curled up on his bed with earbuds plugged into his phone. Madara’s voice is almost as clear as if he were there and if he closes his eyes he can pretend that they both are lying on his large empty bed, just talking. 

Madara makes that low hum that he’s fond of when he’s contemplating how best to say something. “The wallpaper is floral, outdated, and the mattress leaves a bit to be desired, and you’re not here, so that part is most unfortunate.”

“Yes it is,” Tobirama says, “Of course, my bed is most comfortable, so it’s really just a shame that you aren’t here instead.” 

“Oh, of course,” Madara says. “Have you bought another chair yet?” 

“I swear to gods above Uchiha,” Tobrirama’s tone switches to annoyed easily. “If this is part of some elaborate game to get me to buy another chair and it turns out you are in league with Hashirama, then you are going to be in so much trouble.” 

Madara chuckles on the other line, a throaty purr that rumbles all the way through Tobirama’s bones. “I assure you,” he says, that smooth baritone like a punch to the gut, the way it unfairly steals Tobirama’s breath without a touch. “It is one big conspiracy to get you to buy another chair. However I promise that I’m not in league with your brother to make this happen and could care less if he ever knows you did.” 

“Oh?” Tobirama asks, intrigued that Madara was so willing to admit it. 

“Yes,” says Madara, and his voice is still unfairly doing things to Tobirama’s insides. 

“One day, you are going to buy that chair, and invite me over to sip coffee and talk like we always do, and then it’s going to be really late, and you might send me on my way with a kiss.”

Tobirama’s breath catches as he pictures it, and he wants it so bad, but he doesn’t want Madara to leave, “What if I ask you to stay?” 

“Then I’ll stay,” Madara says, airy like it’s of no consequence. He’s completely casual and devastatingly maddening. “And if you want, I’ll fuck you into your matress.” 

“Yeah?” Tobirama almost whispers, and he can picture it, Madara above him, skin smooth and hot underneath his hands, his mouth soft and _everywhere,_ hair spilling down his back and catching in the light. “I’d want that. I want you so much.” 

“Of course,” Madara practically purrs before this voice drops, “I don’t really have a preference, so you can fuck me into your matress if want.” 

“Right now, I think I’d want you on top,” Tobirama admits, and he can feel his body flush with the heat, mildly embarrassed to be talking about it, but too turned on to care. “I’m pretty flexible though.” 

“I bet you are,” if possible, Madara’s voice shifts to a heavy rumble, deep and throaty and full of _implications._ Tobirama could swear that the sound of Madara’s voice goes straight to his cock. It leaves him heavy and half-hard. “Oh god, don’t do that, just the sound of your voice…” 

His words earn him another dark and throaty chuckle, “Yes, Tobirama? Tell me.” 

The noise he makes in return borders on frustration, and his answer borders on insolence, “You jerk- cocktease.” 

Madara hums, “Yeah? That much?” 

“Filthy fucker, why are you _such_ an asshole?” he asks. He already knows the answer, three months dipping in and out of Madara’s orbit, finding himself at the center of his attention means that he _knows_ that Madara’s nature is to make everything a challenge. He’s difficult about some things and sweet only when he needs to be, and of course, of course he was going to be difficult about this. 

“Does it matter what I say, or is it just my voice that’s doing it for you?” he asks, and Tobirama knows that he’s giving the game away when all he can answer with are curses, 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh, it doesn’t?” and there’s that playful lilt that comes up just before he wordlessly slams the point of his argument home, before he makes Tobirama admit things that he never thought he would. This time Tobirama forgoes words for an indulgent whine, his hands running down his chest as he uncurls to sprawl unceremoniously across the bed. In his head, he imagines Madara straddling him, despite the fact he never has, and really it’s not a surprise that the man is a terrible tease. 

“What do you think, Tobirama? How riled up are you?” 

_So fucking much,_ “Just talk, you bastard.” 

“Think I could read the phone book and still make you cum?” 

“Fuck you, asshole, just let me…” Tobirama trails off, flushed and hot and unsure of what he wants. 

“I’m in a hotel, they still have one. Let’s see here,” Madara grumbles, Tobirama can hear the sound of pages turning over the phone and it sounds a bit like a promise. “Oh and Tobirama?” 

“Uchiha?” Tobirama bites down on the word like an insult, but Madara is only amused but it. 

The amusement is accompanied by Madara’s voice shifting back into that devastating timber that burns like fire through his veins. “Touch yourself.” 

Tobriama finally lets his hand slide beneath the waistband of his boxers, to where he is hard and aching. His hand fits around his cock and he reminds himself to breath. His brain feels like it’s short circuiting every time Madara talks, as if his own frustration is just fuel to the fire. 

“Bates, sixty six peachtree drive,” Madara starts, smug that Tobirama can’t even bring himself to care that Madara is reading him the fucking phonebook. “Five, five five, seven three four seven.”

Tobirama is lost at this point, lost to the words, and nothing but the tone is registering. He slides his hand back up only to swipe his tongue across his palm, too hot and bothered to get up and go look for lube. “Bathum, five, seven, five, six, three, three, two.” 

His hand is back on his cock, rhythmically stroking along to the strings of numbers that Madara manages to produce, only to answer with hungry, angry noises that only earn him hums of approval.

“Batt, one three six oakwood crescent,” he continues. “Five, three, three, six, five, five, nine.” 

Tobirama curls his hand so that he can put pressure along the sensitive veins, whining low in his throat and still spitting curses, “fuck you Madara, the phone book? Why?” 

“I wanted to know what my voice could do to you and now I know,” Madara says, but even he’s starting to sound on the side of breathless. “Fuck I want to know what you are doing. Are you stroking your cock to the sound of my voice? Does it feel good?” 

“Fuck it does, and you fucking know it does,” Tobirama _whines._

Madara smiles and that slight amusement colors his tone, and Tobirama wonders when he became fluent in reading Madara just by his voice, “Oh I do, I just wanted to hear you say it. I just wanted to know that I can make you come apart. I love that you love when I speak, hanging on every word. Always a sharp reply at hand, well I can think of things for that wicked mouth to do.” 

“I want your lips on my cock and your teeth on my neck and your tongue _everywhere—_ ” 

“Oh fuck Madara,” and it’s the first time since he started touching himself that Tobirama uses Madara’s name in that tone and he’s so close that he moans it obsenely. “I want to cum so bad, I’m so close...”

Madara loses his composure at that, elegance turning over to simple commands, “Then cum, and let me hear you. Let me hear you moan my name.” 

Tobirama does, long and breathy and near strangled, like his mouth is forming around a soundless scream, “----dara” 

Madara is close, and hearing his name makes him shudder and Tobirama can hear it as he cums. It’s obscene but he can hear the hitch in breath as Madara chases his own release with a low moan that rumbles in his pleasure. 

“Well, that was unexpected,” Tobirama says. “Pleasant, but unexpected.” 

Madara’s voice is still breathy, and despite the circumstances, he still manages to sound amused. “Think of it as motivation.” 

“Mhmm?” Tobirama asks, too boneless and relaxed to puzzle out whatever Madara could be talking about. 

“You should go furniture shopping; buy another chair, make your guest feel welcome.” Madara says. “Then we can have all the pillow talk you want.” 

Tobirama smiles, wide and pleasant and even if Madara isn’t here to see it, next time he will be. “Conspiracy, we could always go to your place.” 

“Yes,” Madara agrees, “and we will, I just wanted to see if I could talk you out of your no-guest policy. Do you think it worked?” 

“I don’t know Madara,” Tobirama snipes, only a little petty. If his weakness is Madara’s voice, he knows exactly what Madara’s weakness is when it comes to him. He’s felt his dark eyes on him, drinking in his movements when he stretches, staring as he reads with his hands tracing the characters, wondering if he would feel the weight of that gaze if his hands were to run over all of Madara’s soft pale skin instead. He can’t accuse Madara of not being patient. “I guess you will just have to wait and see.” 

“Fair enough,” Madara gives, easier than he thought but Madara has never been pushy, preferring instead to set the trap and then wait around till Tobriama walked into it willingly, knowingly. 

<3

Tobirama calls Touka in the morning. “I need a favour, I could use a friend to help me pick up a few things that I would rather not take over the train.” 

Touka has always been the first person that he will turn to when he needs a hand, and though it’s fast becoming Madara who he asks, in this situation, it’s Touka who is discrete and trustworthy and best of all, not directly involved. 

“Yeah, sure, what is it you need to pick up?” Touka asks. 

Tobirama doesn’t let his voice give anything away when his words are possibly about to earn him a relentless amount of teasing. “Oh, a second chair, for guests.” 

Touka guffaws and he can hear the phone drop as her laughter turns into hacking before she composes herself. “Of course, when do you want to go.” 

“Oh, anytime is fine,” he says, airy and dry like he has just told a great joke that nobody has caught onto yet, “but preferably as soon as possible.” 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some cute phone sex, and then I thought but how did we get to the cute phone sex......and now we know.  
> I love heart bouquets and will respond to questions or enthusiasm.


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